


Reclamation

by Halfblood_Fiend



Series: more-aoe's Prompts That Turned to Smut [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Domestic smut, F/M, Fluff, Multiple Orgasms, Post Coronation, accidental angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfblood_Fiend/pseuds/Halfblood_Fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a moment away from their new duties, Gwin and Alistair get a chance to breathe.<br/>Or rather....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reclamation

**Author's Note:**

> My third (and favorite) of my smut fics.   
> Prompt is underlined.  
> Enjoy! :D

He looks at her as if she is new, touches her like he is afraid to spoil her. Fingers trail lightly over her skin, raising gooseflesh.

“My wife.”

“My queen.”

He chants through kisses as if he can’t believe it himself.

“We’re safe now,” Gwin tells him, her nails scratching gently over his scalp.

Alistair chuckles against a dark, pert nipple, his warm breath sending tingles through her body, all the way down to her curled toes. “There are dozens of Banns that are trying to tell me differently.”

Gwin smiles softly to herself and tenses in anticipation as Alistair peppers her stomach with soft kisses, shifting his way down the bed.

She can’t shake the feeling that she is in a dream. Nothing feels real. The Archdemon has fallen. The long coronation was completed. Their royal wedding followed not long after. It all must be a vison from the Fade, blurred around the edges, teasing her with a life that she could never have. The Wardens took it from her, surely. This could not possibly be true.

A finger slips inside her heat, and then another and Gwin sighs.

“Something the matter, my dear?” Alistair asks with concern, not missing a beat with the slow stretch of his fingers.

Gwin fights to keep her eyes open against the slide of him inside her, teasing her with perfectly placed touches. Well cultivated, well-practiced, so natural that when she shifts to look at him, he shifts with her, a knowing smile plastered on his face.

“This _is_ happening, isn’t it?” she ask uncertainly.

Alistair’s eyebrow quirks, and he cocks his head teasingly to the side. “Isn’t it?” he purrs. His mouth lowers to her clit and he sucks gently.

“Ah!” Gwin arches, shuddering when met with the vibrating laughter against her nub.

He releases her from her mounting desire, licking his lips, and leans to press kisses to her thigh instead. “I do know what you mean,” he admits softly, watching the precise movements of his fingers with fascination. “After everything…This seems too much to hope for.” Their gazes meet again. “ _You_ seem too much to hope for…”

“Kiss me, Alistair.”

“And abandon _this?”_ He curls his fingers inside her, finding _the_ spot the way he has so often, and Gwin gasps. Biting his lower lip, his tempo increases and he watches her squirm for him. Her eyes flutter closed and she whimpers at the pleasure he elicits. He reaches up to stroke a breast, teases the nipple, and she pants for him. Breathy pleas for more and for kisses and for his cock buried inside her. These are all things he loves to hear, and things she loves to say, but he seems content just to watch her and ignore his own burning need. He makes love to her with his fingers, observing her passions as intently as during their first few stolen moments in their tents. Being beneath his wondering eyes sends a thrill through her, kindled by his pumping. Her moans are encouraged by his thumb joining the fray, rubbing her clit in tight circles that move her into a frenzy. Her desperate hands claw at the sheets, searching for him, as he drives her further, her pleasure curling in her stomach, rippling through her like waves. His free hand moves to her stomach to hold her still against the onslaught, building more pressure where his fingers work. Alistair’s breathing grows ragged and loud in her ears but he is intent on his duty, focused solely on her. Gwin catches sight of him in between the fluttering of her eyelids and her throes of ecstasy into the plush pillows of their grand bed. He is tensed and certain, and he looks as though he has never watched anything more beautiful in his life. His steady work undoes her. Alistair sighs along with her, when her orgasm shudders through her eager body. He draws it out as much as he can and watches her writhe in delight. She rides it, shows him just what he does to her, never afraid to be completely exposed to him. Alistair can see it all: the warrior, the hero, the noble, the _woman_. It is a side that only he sees now, and that, more than anything, makes him devotedly hers.

“I love you,” Alistair says, his voice breaking a little and Gwin is right there. She wraps her arms around him, her body still flush from his attention and she kisses him fervently. His tongue slides against hers and he pulls her as close as he possibly can, searching, taking, searing, his erection hard against her stomach. His care nearly brings her to tears as he guides her over his head, calloused hands running down her back, clutching at her desperately. He moans with abandon into their kiss when she lowers herself onto his length, and Gwin shivers with rekindled desire.

“Maker, I love you,” he whispers to her again and they move together with slow precision. He never looks away, his hand snaking up to hold her neck with needy fingers as his other arm wraps around her waist. “Gwinevere…” She raises herself and sinks back onto him in the slow rhythm he began, pressing her forehead to his. “My queen…” She kisses him, and mewls when he meets her hips with a sharp thrust of his own. “My love…”

Alistair shifts their bodies, moving her effortlessly onto her back. His hot mouth kisses along her jaw, her neck, tongue leaving a wet trail along her burning skin. His hips thrust languidly, grinding against her longingly with every drive. Gwin pants already, her back arching against his solid chest, hips meeting his strokes and eliciting moans against his shoulder.

He whispers her name, in between prayers to the Maker: “Maker! _Gwin!_ Oh, _Andraste_ help me, Gwinevere!”

They climb together to their peaks and find their ends in their sensuous movements, shrill cries and throaty shouts. Alistair collapses atop her, squeezing his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her neck and lies there. Gwin is content to never move again in her life, forever wrapped around her lover, her king. Her fingers twist into his sweat-drenched hair and she holds him as tightly as he holds her, swearing that she will never let go.

Soft. Barely audible even in the stillness of the room. Nearly lost over the pounding of their hearts. _“I’m so sorry.”_

_“Me too.”_

 


End file.
